The Road Less Traveled
by s1ncer1ty
Summary: In this speculative fic, Jyou explains to Iori why he chose to continue his studies to become a doctor, and why it's still his own chosen path. Just a cute little 'what-if' friendship fic. o.o


*** Notes: Digimon doesn't belong to me. If it did, then I would be rich, and probably smooching the sexy dude they modeled Jyou after for 02.

A lot of people seem to come down on Jyou for choosing to become a doctor in 02 when in season 1 he openly admitted he didn't want to continue in that profession. I'm of the belief that, well, it was a bit of a wimp-out, but the other day an idea came to me that maybe it was what he truly wanted to do. With the idea in mind, I decided to explore this alternate path, and this is what I came up with. I hope it's decent.

For those of you who are waiting on a continuation of my Mimi/Joe fic, please be patient. I have a second installation written up, but I'm not overly happy with it. I would rather have you read a fic that I'm proud of and have worked hard on than a piece of work that I feel, in my own mind, is substandard. I'm tooling around with that section of the fic, and hopefully I'll be happy with it soon. o.o ***

* * *

"The Road Less Traveled"

_for Niki_

Because of the task at hand, Iori and I switched Digimon partners for a brief amount of time. Gomamon, more of a water-loving Digimon, wasn't as well-suited to gathering wood for the evening fire or obtaining food from a thick forest with no water in sight. However, because Iori had been hurt in today's battle, and because of the cold that came with the coming of night in the Digital World, his own reptile Digimon would not be able to give the boy the warmth he so needed at this point in the night. So Gomamon stayed behind to keep Iori warm and safe, while Armadimon and I rooted through the dead underbrush for twigs and kindling for a fire.

When Armadimon and I returned, with a neat pile of logs and twigs tied to the Digimon's back and a bag of edible mushrooms and other assorted plants slung across my shoulders, we found Gomamon snuggled carefully in Iori's lap. With the boy's good, unbandaged arm, he was stroking my Digimon's fur like he would a cat's. Gomamon's laughing, high-pitched voice was audible for a good distance as we made our way back.

"The only way out was through that tiny shaft in the cave. And then Jyou said, 'I can't do this, Gomamon! I faint when I'm in enclosed spaces, and I'm allergic to fainting!'" the mirthful Digimon cackled as he told yet another tale of our misadventures from the old days.

Iori gave a careful, guarded snicker, which trailed off as he saw Armadimon and me approaching.

"What he's not telling you," I interjected with a good-natured smirk, "is that when he tried to climb through that opening himself, he got stuck. That's what you get for eating all the rations at once, Gomamon."

Gomamon glared at me for ruining the joke, and he climbed from Iori's lap with a sniff. "I got us out of that mess, didn't I?"

I lay down the bag that was filled with tonight's supper, and I picked Gomamon up and gave him a light poke in the sides. As the ticklish Digimon dissolved into a fit of giggling, I grinned and replied, "Yeah, you did, but not before I had to use the emergency sunscreen in order to get you slick enough to pop you out of that hole."

Iori smiled gently and, once Gomamon left his lap, shifted his position with a mild wince. He'd fallen hard during the battle, landing on his left wrist and twisting it painfully. I'd bandaged it after we'd managed to get away, separating ourselves from the other Digidestined children in order for the boy to recuperate. "That sounds like quite a story," he said in his usual soft voice.

I gave the boy a smile in return and nodded. "They were interesting times back then. And they only seem to be getting more interesting as the years go by. By the way," I added, "how are you feeling?"

"I've felt better," Iori replied with a noncommittal shrug. "You don't think my wrist is broken, Jyou, do you?"

I knelt down before the boy and gently took his injured arm in my hands. "The swelling's probably gone down enough by now for me to be able to tell more easily," I said, unwrapping the bandages as Iori winced.

As carefully as I could, I felt the boy's wrist and inspected it for broken bones. He gasped out in pain a couple times, but both of us knew the pain couldn't be helped. Then, once I finished feeling the placement of the bones and ligaments in his wrist, I rewrapped the bandages and gave him my verdict.

"I think it's just sprained, though once you get back to the real world, you'll want to get an X-ray to be absolutely sure. But I don't feel any broken or dislocated bones," I said with a smile. "I've broken my wrist before. You'd probably be in much more pain if it were really broken. Either that, or you've got a higher tolerance for pain than I ever did."

Iori sighed and gave me a small, mysterious grin. "That's a relief. It's a good thing you're around. Otherwise, I'd have been sick with worry."

I rubbed at the back of my neck and started to my feet again in order to get the fire started. "It's no big deal," I said, humbly. "It's what I do best."

Iori regarded me with those strange, green eyes of his, thoughtful for a moment before he interjected, "I hope this doesn't sound disrespectful, Jyou, but why did you choose to continue your studies as a doctor? From what the other kids have told me in stories about your time as a Digidestined, it doesn't sound like it was what you really wanted to do."

"Yeah, Jyou, I thought you fainted at the sight of blood!" Gomamon broke in as he rustled through my bag of supplies. "Or were allergic to blood. Or something like that."

I laughed slightly and shook my head. "I don't faint at the sight of blood anymore," I replied. "It's a long story. Why don't we get the fire going, and I'll tell you all about it?"

Gomamon hooted with happiness at the prospect of a story and started rooting through my bag that much faster, burrowing his head all the way in throughout his search.

"Erm. Gomamon, buddy," I said, raising an eyebrow. "You're not allowed to play with the matches. Not after what happened last time."

My Digimon popped his head out of the bag with a distinct pout, and he plodded over to Iori and settled his head in the boy's lap. "He still has no sense of humor after all these years," he moped, while Armadimon and I gathered the wood into a neat pile, surrounded by rocks, and got the fire started.

The four of us circled the fire once it was crackling, with Gomamon settling snugly into my lap and Armadimon curling up beside Iori. We skewered the mushrooms and vegetables on green twigs and roasted them over the fire like they were marshmallows. It was then that I began my story.

"Hmm. Where do I start?" I mused. "Well, as you probably know by now from the stories the other Digidestined and Gomamon the Motormouth have told you, it's true that it wasn't my original intention to become a doctor." All eyes turned to me, and I couldn't help but stutter a little at first, still slightly nervous at being the center of attention. "My father is a doctor, and he wanted both me and my brother Shen to follow in his footsteps. It was through his urgings that I started studying nonstop to pass the necessary exams to get into a good medical school."

"In a way, you're lucky," said Iori, his green eyes turning to stare at the fire. For a moment, I felt a pang of regret, knowing that Iori's father had died when he was younger.

"I suppose so, but I didn't feel lucky back then," I continued. "I always figured my father as overbearing and pushy, when he really just wanted his sons to have an easier time in life than he had. He's a survivor of the Nagasaki bombing of World War II. He'd had to struggle against terrible odds to get where he is today, and he didn't want Shen or me to have to fight just to put food on the table or have a roof over our heads."

"Considering our current situation, that's somewhat ironic," Iori remarked.

I laughed softly. "I know, Iori. Though I can't say the situations are the same. Anyway, I'd all but given up on my quest to become a doctor after we returned from the Digital World. I'd finally gathered the courage to tell my father of my plans, maybe three months after our return home. I let him know how I felt, and it wasn't a pleasant sight. He was angry, and the fight we had was the catalyst that began the path I'm on now."  
  
As I spoke, Iori's eyes riveted on me, and he fell oddly silent, taking in every word of my life's story -- both the good and the bad.

**

"You can't be serious, Jyou," my father said, glaring down at me from above thick glasses that mirrored my own.

"I am, Dad," I said, trying to force the shakiness from my voice. Any quaver in my tone would be seen as a sign of weakness from my father, and I knew this time, I couldn't let him break me down. "I know you did your best for me, but I don't want to become a doctor."

Dad's eyes narrowed to slits, a small blaze of anger within their dark depths. "I've worked hard to pay your way through school, and this is how you repay me? No, Jyou, I will not allow it!"

I lifted my chin, facing the wrath of the one man who could still send me to a corner shivering in fear even after all these years. "It's not what I want!" I exclaimed. "Don't you even care what I want?"

"Then what do you want? Tell me, now."

Here, I choked, and my mind ran blank. There were so many things I wanted to, anything but become a doctor, but the dreams I'd had in the Digital World and those three months following ran from my mind like water through a sieve. "I -- I don't know! You never gave me the chance to find out!"

"That's not a good enough answer, Jyou. I'm going to forget this conversation ever happened," my father said, turning from me red-faced and livid. "Now get back to your room and study! You have exams!"

"But, Dad--"

"No!" he roared, his glare boring holes through my very being. "Go to your room, Jyou! I want you out of my sight for now!"

I could feel the tears springing to my eyes, and I ran past my mother and Shen, who had been surreptitiously listening from the kitchen, dashing into my room and slamming the door. Swiping an arm across my eyes, I choked out, "Gomamon, what would you do if you were here?"

Just then, it came to me. I knew what Gomamon would have done. Without a second thought, I ripped the sheets from my bed and knotted them together. Throwing open the door to the balcony, I tied the sheets to the railing. We were only three floors up, so an escape from the suffocating realm of the Kido household would be easy. I threw my feet over the ledge and held on tight to the sheet-rope I'd made. I was shaking, fearful of the height, but to my twelve-year-old mind, it was the only way out.

I didn't notice the knot tying the sheet to the railing had come undone until it was too late. I'd reached the second floor climbing down when my weight forced the knot to give. I felt my heart lurch into my throat as I toppled to the ground, landing hard on my right side, and my world filled with a blinding white light of agony.

**

When I awoke, I was huddled in an unfamiliar bed, under cold, stiff sheets. The world was a hazy blur, and the first thing I realized was that my glasses were missing. When I tried to reach blindly for them, the second thing I discovered was that my right arm was bound tightly to my body, unmoving.

"He's waking up," said a familiar, masculine voice -- that of my brother Shen.

"Oh, good," came a second voice from nearby. My mother placed my glasses in my left hand, and she came into focus as I gingerly placed them back on my face. She smiled at me gently. "How are you feeling, Jyou?"

I sat up, taking in the sight of the hospital room where Shen and my mother stood close to my bed. "I've got a bit of a headache," I groaned. "What happened to my arm?" For a moment, I couldn't comprehend why I couldn't move my right arm, and I immediately jumped to conclusions. "I didn't have to get my arm amputated, did I?"

Mom's eyes glittered as she shook her head, but Shen laughed aloud. "No way, bro. You just broke your wrist and gave yourself a concussion when you fell."

Looking down, I saw the thick cast that surrounded my wrist, which still throbbed annoyingly. "Oh, alright."

"The doctors want to keep you overnight for observation," said Mom sadly. "You'll probably be let out first thing tomorrow morning."

"Where's Dad?" I asked softly.

"He had work to do," Shen replied, all too quickly covering up for the man who had likely refused to join his son in the hospital out of sheer anger. "But he knows you're in good hands, so he'll see you tomorrow when you get home."

I nodded and sighed, settling back against the pillows and lowering my eyes. "He's probably angry at what I did," I murmured. "Are you mad, Mom?"

"We'll discuss it when you're feeling better, Jyou," Mom replied in that tone of voice that meant, _'I'm not angry. Just disappointed.'_ Her tone made me feel that much worse.

Mom and Shen stayed at my side for another hour, with Shen doing most of the talking, going on excitedly about his studies and the newest medical discoveries within his high school textbooks. Mom remained quiet, barely saying more than a few phrases. I was almost glad when the nurse popped her head in and announced that visiting hours were over.

After they left, I settled back against my pillows with a sigh of relief. I could worry about the storm I'd have to face when I returned home at another time. For now, I was glad to have a break in the tension of the evening.

"Wow," came a soft voice from beside me, startling me from my thoughts. "Sounds like you've got a lot to look forward to when you get back home."

I turned my head to discover a small-framed young boy lying in the hospital bed beside me. In all my worry over Mom and Shen, I hadn't even noticed that I was sharing the room with another child. The boy couldn't have been much older than ten, although his skin was altogether too pale, and he looked as if he hadn't eaten in a week or more. He wore a baseball cap of a local team and the standard hospital gown.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I probably do. My dad's gonna kill me." I rubbed my eyes with my good hand, and I added, "I'm Jyou, by the way. Kido Jyou."

The boy smiled lightly. "Ushigorou Mori," he replied quietly. "What are you in for?"

I shrugged and shook my head. "I was dumb. I tried to climb from my window because my dad and I had an argument. I wasn't going to run away -- I just wanted to leave the house for a while, really. Anyway, I fell and broke my arm. I don't know how I'm going to write or eat now. I'm not left-handed." I looked over at Mori and asked, "What about you?"

"I have leukemia," the boy said, looking straight at me. Immediately, I was filled with regret -- while I worried over how I was going to brush my teeth in the future, Mori was afflicted with a disease that could very well kill him. For the first time, I noticed just how sallow his complexion seemed, how sunken his eyes appeared, like that of a very tired boy who'd been sick for years.

"Oh," I whispered, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Mori replied easily enough. "You didn't know."

"Are you..." I trailed off, unable even to get the words out.

"Dying?" Mori finished for me. "I guess I am. My mom tries to tell me differently, but I know better. I can feel it, wearing me down little by little."

"Isn't there anything that can be done for you?"

Mori shrugged. "They say I've got a chance if I continue with the chemotherapy. But what would really save my life would be a bone marrow transplant."

I nodded to boy lying in the other bed, feeling an overwhelming sadness. Mori was calm, and altogether too accepting of his fate, or so it seemed to me.

"But anyway," he continued brightly, as if our previous conversation hadn't even happened, "they've got a video game system here, to keep us kids out of their hair. The games aren't all that up-to-date, but it's something to do. Up for a challenge?"

I looked sadly down at my thickly bandaged arm and shrugged, "I don't think it would really be much of a challenge. I probably can't hold a controller, and I was never very good at games to begin with."

The boy winked at me and tossed me one of the controllers before he started up a racing game in the video system that came with the hospital room. "Don't worry. I'll go easy on ya."

**

Mori and I talked throughout the night, and he helped me keep my mind off the inevitable confrontation with my father. He told me his life story, from his childhood in Tokyo proper to his baseball championships, up until he fell ill. He chattered on about his favorite teams and the multitudes of girlfriends he'd have waiting for him when he finally returned to school. He was an interesting kid, although we seemed to have such different personalities that we probably would never be friends if we'd met outside the hospital.

In turn, I spoke to him about some of my adventures in the Digital World and of my friends, and he surprised me when he told me he'd been among the children Myotismon had captured in his search for the Eight Digidestined Child.

The next morning, my father surprised me by picking me up from the hospital. He gave a brusque nod to Mori, who was being prepped for another round of chemotherapy, before he turned to me. "It's time to go home," he said.

I turned to Mori and offered him a small wave. "Well," I said, slightly awkwardly, as I swung my feet over the edge of my hospital bed, "I hope you get better."

The boy who'd been so happy the night before just to play video games gave a quiet, wordless nod to me, his attitude completely changed from the night before. Still quiet and accepting of his illness, it was only as he prepared himself for the treatment that he let the overwhelming sadness get to him. The look in his dark eyes was heartbreaking.

Even though I'd only just met him, I knew I had to do something more for him. That's what being reliable was about, wasn't it?

I couldn't say any further words of encouragement to Mori, as my father gave my shoulder a sharp nudge to get me moving. Without another sound, I trudged from the room.

Dad and I had reached the lobby -- the silence between us thick and suffocating -- when I finally raised my eyes to him and uttered, "Dad? I -- I need to ask you something."

"Speak," my father said, not looking me in the eye.

"Mori -- the boy up in the room with me. He's very sick, and he needs help."

"Yes. Leukemia. I saw his chart." As my father spoke, his harsh tone softened slightly.

"Dad, can -- I be tested? To see if I could be a compatible donor?"

My father froze in his tracks and rested a hand on my shoulder. When he finally met my gaze, I could see the sadness in his eyes. Yet, I could also see a glimmer of something else -- pride, perhaps? In me? The son who'd defied his wishes?

"Yes, Jyou. You may." As we started walking again, he added quickly, "Just don't get your hopes up. The chances that you'll be a suitable match are extremely slim."

I nodded quickly. "Yes, Dad, I understand."

We set up the appointment for me to be tested that day.

**  
"A week later, I was still adjusting to life with one working arm, my off-arm at that, when the phone rang with the news," I said to the Iori and the two Digimon who'd listened to my tale patiently enough so far. "They called me into the doctor's office, and they told me that one chance in a million came through."

"You were a compatible donor for Mori?" Armadimon asked in his odd southern American drawl.

I nodded, smiling a little. "Exactly. They were impossible odds, but I beat them. The donation process was an excruciating one, though. They stuck needles in my arm, all the way through the bone."

Iori paled at the thought, but Gomamon lifted his sparkling eyes up to me and asked, "Did you faint?"

Laughing, I nodded to my Digimon companion. "Yeah, I fainted. And I threw up. It _hurt,"_ I explained, defensively.

"That's my Jyou for ya!" beamed Gomamon with a triumphant grin.

"What happened from there?" Iori asked, his Zen-like patience holding out only so long. "Did Mori live?"

Sighing quietly, I let my gaze trail to the fire, and I shook my head. "We kept in touch for a while, but of course, he had different friends and priorities than I did. To him, I was a bit of a nerd, and to me, he was a bit of a jock. But we did talk through e-mail every so often. One day, though, the e-mails stopped coming. Mori had a relapse, and one night, several months after the operation, he passed away quietly in the night."

Iori nodded solemnly, his eyes downcast. "I'm sorry to hear it, Jyou. It must have been hard for you." The young boy knew all too well the pain of losing a friend.

"It was. I still miss him. He was a good kid. Maybe we weren't destined to become the best of friends, but he still affected my life significantly. The day of the funeral..."

The others silenced down once more as I continued.

**  
I stood before the casket, pale and shaking. Mori's body appeared made-up, like a mannequin, with too much rouge on his pasty cheeks. His hair was gone, even his eyebrows fallen out from the chemotherapy, but he wore the very baseball cap I'd first seen him in at the hospital many months ago. The cap was an odd contrast to the dark grey suit surrounding his wasted shell of a body.

"I'm sorry, Mori. I wish I could have done more," I whispered to the unmoving figure in the satin-lined coffin. I could have done more for him, if only I had the knowledge. There, staring at Mori's body, I realized that I _wanted _to bear this knowledge.

Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I looked up and met the eyes of my father. Without a word, I rose to my feet and the two of us walked from the church where Mori's grieving relatives and friends had congregated. His hand was on my shoulder the whole time, and even though we continued to have our arguments over the months, it was a comforting feeling.

Silent, we walked to the car and climbed inside. However, my father didn't bother to turn on the engine. Instead, he said to me, "Jyou, I want to tell you something."

Puzzled, I looked to him as he struggled to form the words. Like me, he'd never been very good at expressing himself through speech.

"I know I can be hard on you sometimes, son. But I only do it because, well, I love you. I don't want to see you hurt, or poor, or starving. I probably don't tell you this enough, but I'm proud of you. And whatever path you choose in life, I'll support you. Though I don't necessarily have to like it."

Turning from him, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, and I forced my gaze towards the window as I fought to keep from breaking down.

"It's okay, son. You've had a rough few days. Let it out." My father's voice was gentle, not at all the harsh shout I'd grown accustomed to in the months since I'd returned from the Digital World.

"I'm not crying," I lied, shaking from the sobs that threatened to emerge. "It's just my allergies. Too many flowers in the church."

My father placed a hand on my shoulder, and I suddenly turned to him, wrapping my arms around him as I let the tears flow.

"Why couldn't I have done anything more?" I sobbed. "It's not fair! He was younger than me. He didn't deserve to die!"

Dad nodded and just held me quietly, stiffly. He wasn't very good at expressing his emotions, but by now, I'd learned to stop blaming him for it. "There's only so far medical science has advanced," he explained quietly. "Every human is different, and not all of them will respond to the same treatment. Not everyone can be saved, Jyou."

"The doctors could have tried harder. I'd have tried harder," I said, muffling my words against my father's chest.

"I know, Jyou. You would have. You're reliable like that. But you've got to understand that the medical field isn't advanced enough to save everyone. Some diseases, like leukemia, still have a lot of research to go before a cure can be found."

I sniffled and drew away from my father, pulling off my glasses so I could wipe my teary eyes. "Dad," I murmured, "I've been thinking. What if I were to become a pediatric doctor? Someone who helps children? Would you still be proud of me?"

"I'd only be proud of you if that's what you truly wanted, Jyou," he replied, starting up the car.

As we pulled away from the church, I nodded resolutely. "I don't want any more kids to have to die like Mori," I murmured. "If there's a cure, I'll find it."

"I've no doubt that you will, son," said my father, pulling out onto the highway and towards the west-setting sun.

**  
"So," I concluded before my audience around the fire, "sometimes, even when you're convinced it's the wrong way, you do manage to pick the right path for your future in the first place. When I left the Digital World four years ago, I had convinced myself that becoming a doctor wasn't what I wanted. But it took someone special to remind me of the good I could do in that field. And that I _do _want to help people in any way that I can."

"I think it took a lot of courage, as well," said Iori, smiling faintly. "Some might have seen it as giving up, or giving in to your father."

I nodded slowly. "Some people do think I caved in. But it really doesn't matter what they think. I know that what I'm doing is the right path for me, and I'm going to work as hard as I have to in order to succeed."

Iori yawned and curled up next to Armadimon, who was already snoozing beside the boy. "I hope you find the cure for leukemia, Jyou," he murmured, carefully settling himself so as not to cause further strain on his injured wrist.

"So do I, Iori," I replied, turning my gaze up to the night's sky. "It's why I push myself as much as I do."

Gomamon glanced up at me and whispered before settling himself down for sleep, "I'm proud of you too, Jyou."

Somewhere in his voice, I heard the echo of a long-dead friend.

I didn't bother to hide the single tear that slid down my cheek and pattered to the cold ground of the Digital Forest. 


End file.
